After finalizing the contract with Miller Carter and receiving the advance payment of ten pounds, Cline did not immediately head to Williams Street, but instead arranged to meet at four in the afternoon. Miller fully understood this—he saw that Charlotte Moriaty, a lone detective, would certainly need to recruit support to begin her investigations. Once the dignified gentleman had departed, Cline promptly returned to the table and began eating the now-cooled steak, cutting it into pieces and placing it in his mouth. Indeed, did he not have a lunch at all? Having to make this visit at such a time, merely to fill his stomach, Cline felt a genuine sense of hardship as he began clearing the table. At two in the afternoon, Mrs. Mary arrived as scheduled, her eyes slightly puffy but her complexion growing increasingly somber, to the point that even her companion, Staline Summer, had to remain silent. Cline placed the carefully selected photograph inside an envelope and handed it over: "Madam, would you please confirm?" Mary hesitated for a moment, then slowly inhaled before taking the envelope, extracting the photograph, and examining it closely. “…very good, excellent—you are the most efficient and responsible detective I’ve ever known. I’m delighted to introduce you to the members of the Crags Club. Here’s the final balance—seven pounds, exactly what you deserve.” Mary pulled out a portfolio from her leather handbag and counted out one five-pound note and two one-pound notes. Without waiting for Craine’s response, she slipped the photograph into the envelope, placed it in her handbag, and suddenly rose to leave. The sound of her buckle-less leather boots tapped briskly as she went. Stirling Summer had to hurry to keep up. As she reached the door, Mary stumbled slightly, nearly tripping—luckily, Stirling caught her just in time. The slight interruption caused her to slow down noticeably, and her demeanor seemed to settle into calmness. Madam, you forgot your portable camera—I’ll have Mrs. Summer bring it to you later. Craine watched the scene silently, gave a slight nod, and said nothing. He returned to the second floor, dozed off for a nap, and woke up comfortably at the precise chime of the great clock in the nearby church. Earlier, Crane had consulted the map and confirmed that Williams Street, situated at the junction of the West and Queens districts, was a prime, well-located part of the heart of Bakersland. A fine house in the West or Hillsdon district typically sold for around 2,500 pounds. Miller-Carter’s home, near Queens and formerly a viscountial estate, must be substantial—definitely exceeding 3,500 pounds, possibly reaching 5,000 pounds—enough to purchase a quite excellent magical item. Yet, when he came to visit me, he had neither a butler nor any servants accompanying him, suggesting that he was still adjusting to life in Bakersland and had not yet fully settled in. Crane donned a double-breasted morning suit, put on his hat, and held his cane as he stepped out onto Minsk Street. At that moment, the gas streetlamps had not yet been lit, and the street felt darker than in the late afternoon, though the air remained pleasant, not as stuffy as that in the eastern districts Riding in a hired carriage, they arrived at Williams Street, where克莱恩 saw a waiting footman at No. 8. The footman wore a red jacket and light trousers, and bowed respectfully to the guest. "Good afternoon, is that Detective Moriaty?" "Yes, I've arranged to meet with Mr. Carter."克莱恩 nodded gently and followed the footman into the spacious manor, which featured a lawn in front and a garden to the side. The house had two floors, and the first floor was quite cluttered, with various building materials scattered about and workers moving in and out to carry out renovations. Mr. Carter arrived without a hat, covering his nose as he greeted them. "I'm very sorry—the place is so messy and dirty—but I hope everything can be made beautiful before my family arrives in Beckett. I've only been able to keep them working nonstop." After speaking, he turned to the footman and said, "Keep an eye on them." "It's no wonder I didn't bring any servants before—now they've all become supervisors..." Klein smiled. "I know several doctors who told me that newly renovated houses aren't suitable for immediate occupancy. They recommend waiting at least three months for proper ventilation, otherwise frail elderly people and children are prone to illness." "Really?" Miller asked, leading Klein toward the basement, still puzzled. "I haven't personally verified this, but I trust the authorities. It's said to originate from the words of Emperor Rosel." Klein casually invented the explanation. Miller nodded, then turned back to glance at the doorway, frowning slightly. "Detective sir, didn't you bring any assistants?" "There might be considerable danger hidden within that building." "I do have assistants—though you can't see them," Klein muttered under his breath, then said seriously, "This is our first exploration. I'll proceed with great caution, and if any issue arises, I'll immediately retreat." "In this regard, I have extensive experience—never allowing myself to be put in danger, and in fact, I find that my actions often lack flexibility and decisiveness when working with assistants who are not quite as proficient." Miller paused, saying, "You're very professional." A professionally polished excuse... Klein silently added that to himself. Miller no longer hesitated, guiding the detective Moriaty through the cluttered living room, down the staircase, into a spacious basement. There were no gas pipes, but four metal candelabras were embedded in the walls, casting a dim, flickering light. Stepping on the stone floor, Klein couldn't help but quietly remark in his mind: Indeed, it's no surprise this is a noble estate—the basement has been thoughtfully finished, and it's nearly as large as the living room of my current home. At that moment, Miller pointed toward the far end. "There's a concealed door there, discovered by the workers during the renovation." Klein gazed intently, using the not particularly bright candlelight to see a gray-white stone door in the corner, which had once been part of the wall but now stood exposed. "The rest is up to you—be careful," said the refined gentleman Miller, handing Klein a lit lantern and adding a brief remark. "Was there no wind coming through?" Klein asked cautiously. Miller gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. "It's not particularly stuffy inside, though I didn't have the workers go too far." "Understood," Klein said, checking his belongings, donning a black glove, and, under Miller's gaze, moving steadily with the lantern toward the stone door, pushing it open with his cane. With a slightly heavy, rhythmic sound, he followed the light and saw a corridor paved with dark stone. Several wooden doors stood on either side and at the far end, showing signs of decay, though they were still usable. Not too old... though the door's elaborate style doesn't quite harmonize with the stone's deep, solid presence... Has the Viscount's family changed since then? Caine quietly activated his spiritual sight, gripped his staff, held the lantern, and stepped forward one steady foot at a time. The crack in the stone gate widened rapidly, and suddenly a black, slippery creature plummeted down from above. It was a long serpent with a triangular head and red patterns! It straightened its upper body, exhaling in steady streams, and stared at Caine with cold, warm-brown eyes. Patter, patter—more serpents tumbled from the gate, piling up at the entrance. Beyond them, Caine saw a grand hall where countless serpents of various colors writhed and gathered, forming an impressive, sprawling nest several meters long and wide. The slick, unpleasant sensation washed over him. Caine's scalp instantly grew stiff; he stepped back two paces, even wanting to turn his gaze away, unable to meet the creatures' eyes. Though a man, he still feared serpents—serpents were his greatest fear. This stemmed from a deep psychological aversion: as a child, he often liked to quietly push open the door of his room, peering through the crack to watch his parents enjoy a movie together. Unfortunately, his parents once watched a snake disaster film, in which there was a scene showing the demolition of a building that unexpectedly revealed a large colony of snakes. The dense, wriggling movement of those snakes has remained vividly etched in his memory ever since. Could the "sleeping incantation" possibly affect so many snakes? Kline struggled to swallow a lump in his throat and asked into the air, "Do you have any solution?" The figure of the bodyguard in a black gentleman's long dress swiftly appeared beside him, her mouth tightly closed, saying nothing. Kline glanced at her, and she glanced back at him—neither of them spoke. Only when a snake slowly began to move outward did Kline finally clear his throat and repeat, "Do you have any solution?" The bodyguard remained silent, and suddenly floated upward, as a sharp, cold breeze swept through the corridor and rushed into the hall, rapidly lowering the temperature, especially near the outer edges— Hoo! The wind roared, bringing a swift chill to the hall, and the temperature dropped sharply, especially toward the outer areas— Hoo! The dense, thick coils of serpents in the center of the hall suddenly uncurled and surged outward, drifting in every direction in search of warmer, more suitable habitats. Within a few minutes, a thin layer of frost formed on the surfaces of the hall and the corridors, and the countless serpents had vanished into the distance. Whee! The wind still hadn't ceased, and Caine shivered, saying, "Good—almost there." Though the gusts of wind had softened, the cold sensation remained unrelenting, and the figure of the bodyguard disappeared into the air. Caine raised his right hand, holding his staff, covered his mouth and nose, and sneezed. Then he raised his lantern carefully and stepped through the stone archway into the spacious hall. The style here matched that of the corridors outside, dominated by deep black stone flooring and eight matching cylindrical pillars. Suspended high above, metal rods extended from the vaulted ceiling, each ending in a candlestand carved in the form of different creatures. An inverted candlestand... As a student of history, as someone who might be considered an elite in this field, Cline made an initial judgment based on this distinctive arrangement: "Architectural remains from the Fourth Period?" PS: Today's two chapters are now delivered.